Munsta asks: What groups or clubs have you been a part of? Are you part of a secret underground movement with aims to bring down the government, are you part of a yiffing cult, or do you get together with friends in an evening for a drunken game of soggy biscuit?

Each payday 50 of us deposit a small percent of our pay into a central account. We let it build up to a decent amount, then blow the lot on cartons of new and interesting beers.

I do the purchasing and choosing, which is good fun, going into a bottle shop and cleaning up pretty much all of the boutique beers on offer. You get all sorts of free tat too, sunglasses, inflatable sofas, steins etc etc. Everyone gets to try lots of beers they wouldn't normally buy, and sometimes scores some beer orientated merchandise.

At first I thought I'd struggle to find enough variation, but 9 years later, I haven't repeated a single brand.

The absolute worst one was a bizarre Chinese beer that smelled ultra farty when opened and some of the bottles had dead insects floating in them. Quality control was somewhat lax in that brewery.

The second worst would have to be any beer brewed with fruit (raspberries, blueberries). Disgusting concept, I don't care how "traditional" it is.

And yet, I still buy good old VB cans for myself when I go to the bottle shop.

A typical Hop Hounds evening is as follows:

Prepare your beer first.

There's something deeply, deeply assuring and Zen-like about laying a slab of beautiful green VB cans into the bottom of an esky, busting open bags of ice over the top, layering ice evenly over the first layer, repeat for another layer of cans, and top with more ice. Stand back and admire your handiwork, then close the lid firmly, and let sit for 1 hour.

Meanwhile prepare lamb chops in a deep platter with olive oil, rough chopped fresh rosemary, sea salt, white pepper, crushed garlic and a good squeeze of lemon. (Tip; when squeezing the lemon, make sure you squeeze it so as the juice trickles through your fingers, and be sure to contort your face into a violently scrunched belm. Don't know why, just seems to be the current practice of personality chefs on TV). Mix the whole lot with your fingers, and then wipe your hands on the curtains/dog.

Thickly slice some Haloumi, chuck it in some olive oil. Debeak the octopus, cut it all up into small chunks and chuck that in some olive oil too, but add heaps and heaps of lemon juice to break down the protein because they can be rubbery fuckers, even when cooked with care. Again, this presents an excellent opportunity for further belming.

By now, the beer will be chilled, guests have arrived and are sitting around discussing sex, religion and politics, so fire up the bbq and turn it to low. Let it slowly but surely heat up. Contrary to popular thinking, bbq's need to be heated for a good 20 minutes before cooking. This allows the metal to retain heat when all the food is slapped on. This is an opportune time to sit down and have some beer whilst the food marinates in various juices.

If you are dedicated and reasonably "piss fit", you should try and manage to get through one dog beer prior to cooking (6 human beers = 1 dog beer).

Just as everyone is getting a bit blind and increasingly adjective-y, stumble to the fridge and get the food. Slap all the chops on first, this usually results in a few spectacular flames from the oil, and will guarantee a few "ooohs" from your guests.

At this point, do your best to ward of the Type A personalities who will inevitably wander over and lend advice on your bbq'ing technique and try to manhandle the tongs from you. Stand your ground and advise them to go forth and multiply. Also, aprons with rubber tits are not cool, don’t do it. They undermine your natural authority, the Type A will walk all over you and the rubber is a fire risk. Rubber tit burn is no laughing matter.

Next is the haloumi, it will cook quickly; flip it frequently to avoid carcinogenic charring. Lastly, fling the octopus on, frequently move it around, a minute at most should do, always put it on the grill side, press down with the base of the beer can should be welded to your hand to achieve the striping affect.

Slup the whole lot onto a large platter, serve with pulpy white bread rolls and a feeble green salad, prepared for the chicks in the group.

Everyone will tear into the food, as alcohol removes table manners and cutlery protocol. The ice cold beer cuts through the oil wonderfully, and before long you will be on your second wind, fishing around the glorious arctic slush in the esky to find those last few elusive cans of beer.

At this point, it may be prudent to repeat the bbq’ing for the greedy ones, but be aware that your technique will be compromised by alcohol. Let the Type A personality weave his magic, be sure to insist he wears an apron with rubber tits. Sympathise when he burns himself.

This is also an appropriate time to turn the music up a bit louder, as you’re favourite ever song is playing, and it is very important that all present experience your taste in music. Also, by this time the garden presents a convenient place to urinate, as really, toilets can just be a hassle, and it’s only piss anyway. No one died from walking on a pissy lawn.

Sometime later, you will awaken to your young daughter gently bouncing on the trampoline beside you. She asks “Daddy, what is that on the front lawn”.

i can only eat low-quality sausages
as for the octopus, a marinade of olive oil, chopped spring onions, soy sauce and chilli flakes is delicious and the marinade can then be used as a dressing for the accompanying salad
(Smash Monkeyis going off the rails on a crazy train, Sat 23 Jun 2012, 14:08,
closed)

An Australian staple is
long cooked low quality sausage, served in a fold of pulpy white bread with a smear of tomato sauce. Staple food for both kids and adults at my house for Saturday lunch.
(Ken Oath, Sat 23 Jun 2012, 14:13,
closed)

mmm, nice!
i could manage a slice of bread and about half a sausage, i think!
(Smash Monkeyis going off the rails on a crazy train, Sat 23 Jun 2012, 14:15,
closed)

I'm forty. If I ever reach the age where I lose the ability to light a fire and start drinking beer that is only palatable semi-freddo then I'll be behind you in the bollock queue.
Fucking ice for fucking beer. It's no wonder the civilised world thinks you people are savages.

And if I ever lose my mental capacity to the extent that I think the single word "fact" is a constructive and meaningful sentence then I'll cut my bollocks off from the neck downwards.
(Dr. Shambolicje suis charlie, Sat 23 Jun 2012, 15:12,
closed)

Sounds perfect, except...
...you clearly haven't found the right fruit beers. Those crafty Belgian Trappist monks do it properly, nothing sweet and sickly, but re-fermented to leave a beautiful tang. Particularly the Kriek (cherry), which is sour rather than sweet. Heaven.

Says the man who lives in a country
where Fosters is on tap in most of the pubs.*or was when I was last visiting*
(Misery McUglywifean attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Tue 26 Jun 2012, 0:18,
closed)

'At this point, do your best to ward of the Type A personalities who will inevitably wander over and lend advice on your bbq'ing technique and try to manhandle the tongs from you. Stand your ground and advise them to go forth and multiply'

It's funny because it's true. Constantly in battles with my bro in law, who thinks just because he was in the cadets,he's the best woodsman that has ever lived. Please see above for preperation for lighting the fucker too.
(bROKEN aRROWPUA HVI Master, Wed 27 Jun 2012, 11:42,
closed)